The warehouse in the utilities compound is much smaller than its counterpart at the docks. It was used mainly for storing different items that would be needed in day to day life around the staff housing such as soaps, towels, and bed sheets. As a result of being much smaller and containing fewer items than the storage at the docks, this warehouse is much more organised and easy to navigate, although the lack of working electricity makes the lack of windows an issue at night. Many of the items are still present on shelves that run the length of the room, all clearly labelled and neatly packed. As the staff were free to come and go from the warehouse as they pleased, there is only a signing out book on a counter at the entrance to track items removed from the premises.

So. She had her map. And she had her vision. Her pretension of power and her simple goal: to die happy.

Ha! And what a goal! Happiness, because Tara Behzad had always been so happy! She thought of Bast, home safe somewhere, probably curled up in a ball beneath a ray of sunlight, totally ignorant of what had befallen her owner. She'd always envied cats.

She studied her blood stained map, still sucking on her fingertip, tracing the contours of the idiot pentagram she's made. Not even recognizable as such, not really, but she knew what she had to do. She knew where she was going.

It wasn't far from the cliffs, and she'd kept to their edge, always teetering, staring down into the teeth of the crashing sea and rocks below, then back to the barbed wire fence on the other side. A rather lovely metaphor, really. The one option was a gate that promised only pain in the attempt of crossing: the other, sure and certain death. For now, Tara kept to the no man's land between.

It did not long to reach her goal: the old Warehouse on her map. The figure was not a part of her roughshod pentagram, though the blood had smeared a little so it touched the edges. She had been torn between this one and the storehouse her map indicated was at the dock, but had opted for this location because it was so much closer. Besides, the collar on her neck was a persistent reminder. It could blow at any moment, and at this moment Tara would not die happy.

So she made her way through the aisles of the asylum's orderly warehouse, humming softly to herself over her thumb, taking stock of the goods inside to see what she might use.

G072 Mirabelle Nesa (DECEASED): "I'm a weak little girl who couldn't save anyone, even myself, but god damn it I beat you and god damn it you are going to remember that because I am Mirabelle Nesa and I am a hardened goddamn warrior and I am not going to fucking give up now!"

There was movement. Someone silhouetted against the light from outside, before slipping into the darkness just as quickly. Cristo blinked a couple times to let his eyes adjust again after the sudden intrusion of the light.

Now, he felt a trickle of fear, something that had been absent so far. People were dangerous in so many ways, he knew. But he stood anyway, grunting softly as his muscles protested from being hunched up so long. His fingertips just brushed the handle of the spear as he rose, but he left it at his feet.

"Hey," he called softly.

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

A voice in the dark. Tara froze, finger still in her mouth, hand resting on a crumbling cardboard box. She had just been enjoying the way it gave beneath her fingertips, like mud as your fingers pressed through. Now there was a strange, someone she hadn't seen, someone-

Her hand twitched, but did not quite move to the bag that held her flashbangs. No, not yet, if ever: she knew too well the harm these things could bring, and anyways that was the path that led down into the rocks and crashing surf. She was still in no man's land. She would not choose death or pain, not yet. She would hold that place as long as she could.

"Hey," she said.

She squinted, trying to make out the figure standing in the dark. Vaguely familiar. Where had seen him? On stage, maybe?

Pieces clicked into place. She remembered his fingers on a piano. "Cris?" she ventured.

G072 Mirabelle Nesa (DECEASED): "I'm a weak little girl who couldn't save anyone, even myself, but god damn it I beat you and god damn it you are going to remember that because I am Mirabelle Nesa and I am a hardened goddamn warrior and I am not going to fucking give up now!"

Cristo drew in a breath in surprise; he hadn't quite expected to be recognized, for some reason. "Yeah," he called back. "Um, it's Cristo Morales, not Luz." Crisanto wasn't here, he remembered. That was... good. Yes, good. As much as he'd like the support of his friends and teammates in this awful situation the fewer of them that were here, the better.

He recognized the girl, too. Small, pretty, unusual name. He'd seen her running before, and hanging around the fine arts wing of the school when he sometimes slipped in to practice the piano. "It's Tara, isn't it? Something like that?" Despite the sheer weirdness of their surroundings, he felt the familiar twinge of embarrassment and nerves at not being certain of remembering someone's name.

He also had no idea what to say next. He took an uncertain step towards her. "I'm, uh. I'm alone. And not... not armed." Not untrue, strictly speaking. The spear remained on the floor, and his movements would definitely be noticeable if he went to pick it up.

"Are you... looking for something?"

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

"Yeah, Tara," Tara said, listening to him. "Oh, right. Sure. You're both...uh..." They played a sport together, but she couldn't remember which one. Two Cris' on the same team, ha. But she guessed Lizzie's brother wasn't a pianist. Would be funny if he was. Hey, I just met your sister, she told me not to die, that was cool of her

"You're on the same team, right?" Tara said. "Or you...were..."

She considered his question, looking around the warehouse. Well, of course she was looking for something. She was looking for a couple somethings, in fact. There was a lot to be done. She weighed her options, hefted her bag, considered. Had to die happy, but that would take so much prep work, and there were about a hundred missteps she could take along the way. She'd already evaluated her map, and wheels were turning in her head.

"I've got these flashbangs, right?" Tara said. "And that's cool and all, but I'd...kinda like something I can use if, uh..." She shrugged. "I was thinking, like, a hammer? Just something I can have handy and maybe...hurt someone without..."

G072 Mirabelle Nesa (DECEASED): "I'm a weak little girl who couldn't save anyone, even myself, but god damn it I beat you and god damn it you are going to remember that because I am Mirabelle Nesa and I am a hardened goddamn warrior and I am not going to fucking give up now!"

"I'm the second baseman," Cristóbal answered automatically, not letting himself think about "is" and "was" and what they meant. "Cris is the pitcher and team captain." The one who was supposed to come up with the plan, he added silently, and was quietly repulsed by his own longing to see his friend step out of the shadows and greet him here.

Tara was looking for supplies. A weapon, really, let's be honest here. Cristo tried not to think too hard about what that meant, even though she sounded like she didn't really want to have to use a weapon against anybody. Neither did he, right?

Right.

Cristo took the chance to move a few more steps towards Tara, one hand trailing the shelf next to him. "Depressing's one word for it, yeah..." he murmured.

But he couldn't afford to give up, whatever "giving up" entailed now or in the future. He didn't have a plan, had barely any supplies, but he had the knowledge that he couldn't give up. "Have you, uh... have you seen anyone else yet? From our class, I mean." Of course she knew what he meant, what else would he mean? Dumb, dumb, dumb.

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

He was moving closer to her. She weighed her options, wondered if she should bolt, decided against it. She didn't know Cris very well, but he'd always seemed gentle. Something about the way he played the piano, the way he moved through the halls. She wasn't worried yet.

yet

"No one killing," she said. "No one dying. That I've seen." She looked past him, down the aisles. "It won't last."

She moved towards him, still searching the stacks and shelves, looking for that hammer.

G072 Mirabelle Nesa (DECEASED): "I'm a weak little girl who couldn't save anyone, even myself, but god damn it I beat you and god damn it you are going to remember that because I am Mirabelle Nesa and I am a hardened goddamn warrior and I am not going to fucking give up now!"

Lizzie was here. A potential friendly face. Another hole in someone's heart when the inevitable came. Cristo chewed his lip and didn't give voice to either of those thoughts. Tara and Lizzie obviously hadn't stuck together, and as for the second thing...

Well, Tara had already said it well enough. Their fragile morning peace wouldn't last. All across this place, the chains would come off. Someone would snap, whether from fear, or anger, or a simple misunderstanding going too far. It didn't matter the reason. You could never take it back.

A barely-audible sigh left Cristo's lips. "I don't suppose you have any sort of plan, do you? I'm blank."

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

"Plan?" she repeated, with a small smile. Inwardly, she shrieked. Plan? Idiot idiot idiot, why discuss plans? The cameras are watching you, waiting to turn your slow descent into fodder for peoples' worst fears, waiting to lampoon your failures and your stupidity. Did he know nothing.

Well. He probably wasn't like her, watching footage and fan-edits alone in her room, back to the wall and face to the door so she could change her screen at a moment's notice. He had to realize that anything he said aloud, they would use against him. Any sign of going against the grain, and they'd blow the bomb they'd placed around his neck. If he had a plan, how to warn him?

"Does dying happy count?" Tara asked. "Because that's really all I got." She paused, then added, "Which is, y'know. Why I need that hammer. Don't think I can really pull it off if I'm gonna get..."

Well, what? How do you die happy, if you're trying to live.

"Smile for the camera," she said, nodding to the gleam of a visible camera in the corner of the room.

G072 Mirabelle Nesa (DECEASED): "I'm a weak little girl who couldn't save anyone, even myself, but god damn it I beat you and god damn it you are going to remember that because I am Mirabelle Nesa and I am a hardened goddamn warrior and I am not going to fucking give up now!"

What Cristo could see of Tara's smile in the dim light unnerved him. Her following words were no better.

The cameras... he'd forgotten about the cameras, for a little while. There had been no whir of motion, no indication that they were zeroed in on him while he remained still and huddled in the corner. Now he was up and moving, and they were surely tracking his every breath.

He shuddered.

There was something off about Tara, too, something just under the surface there that he couldn't put his finger on and wasn't sure he wanted to. Maybe she was a little unbalanced from all that had happened. Maybe she did have a plan and just didn't want to let him - or anyone watching - in on it. Maybe she was just an odd girl.

"I... see," was all he could come up with as reply.

"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."